


. . . And Straight on 'Till Morning

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Quentin Coldwater is bound for a life crafted for him by his father, and when he wishes upon a star for a chance to change his future, it results in the arrival of some very unusual visitors.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Kinktober Horror Erotica Collection by Quentins_Quill





	. . . And Straight on 'Till Morning

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober: The Queliot Edition, day 22: "Fairy Tale Frolics."

“Well, Curly-Q, how do you feel about tomorrow?” 

Quentin glanced up from the model on his desk, a paintbrush in his right hand. Canvas bags and three large suitcases sat in one corner of the room, the cheap carry-alls reminding Quentin of the imminent future his father had so neatly trapped him in. 

“No more kid stuff,” Ted nodded as if Quentin had answered out loud. “You can leave all the magic and fantasy nonsense behind and make friends, maybe join a fraternity! Columbia has some fine organizations.” 

“Maybe,” Quentin murmured, but his attention was on the model, the shuttlecraft  _ Galileo  _ from the original  _ Star Trek _ series. He had yet to finish the interior and if it dried unevenly--

“Hadn’t you best get to bed?” Ted asked. “It’s a big day tomorrow.”

“Sure dad, in a minute,” Quentin nodded. Ted lingered by the door. 

“Don’t be long,” he said before shutting the door behind him. 

Once his father was gone, Quentin finished the inside of the shuttlecraft and set it in a protective brace to dry. A part of him ached to shrink down and fly away in it, maybe not to the  _ Star Trek  _ universe, but . . . 

“Away,” Quentin sighed as he moved to his bedroom window. The lights of the city muted most of the stars, but Quentin searched the sky until he found one. 

“Starlight, star bright,” Quentin muttered. “Or whatever might be listening . . . I don’t want to start college tomorrow. That’s what my dad wants. I want--” Quentin paused and closed his eyes. “I just want to go somewhere I can be myself. Take me somewhere I can be free.” 

When Quentin opened his eyes again, he saw what he thought was a falling star, except that it seemed to be floating, not falling, and it appeared to head straight for his bedroom window. It came closer, growing as it did so, until the star took shape--that of a beautiful young man. Wild, dark curls fell over his forehead and nearly to his shoulders. He wore a jade-green outfit of a button-down tunic, a waistcoat, leggings, and ankle-high boots. A shimmering pixie flitted around his shoulders and the young man ducked as it seemed to admonish him about something. 

“Don’t, Margobell! You’ll scare him,” the handsome young man said, then tapped on the windowpane. 

“Let me in, Quentin,” he said, and tales of vampires and invitations flickered through Quentin’s mind. But this was no bloodsucker--he practically glowed with magic. Quentin unlocked the window and opened it wide, letting the two inside. The pixie got in Quentin’s face and he stepped back, blinking, as the perfectly-formed brunette shook a finger at him. 

“Jeez!” He said, and the young man settled his booted feet onto Quentin’s bedroom floor. 

“Don’t mind her.” He glanced around. “You don’t have a dog, do you?”

“A dog? Uhm--no, my dad has a pair of lovebirds, but--” 

“Thank Ember!” The stranger said. “Every time I come to earth, some mongrel tries to nip off my shadow.” He gave Quentin a brilliant smile. “I heard your wish.” 

“How do you know my name?” Quentin asked, and the stranger stepped closer. 

“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard your wish. But you were too young to come with me then. I’ve been waiting for you.” He touched Quentin’s face. “And you were made for so much more than fraternities and tests and a future that doesn’t even belong to you.” He glanced over as the pixie landed on his shoulder. Quentin saw she wore a dress that matched the jade colors of her companion’s outfit. “I’m Eliot Waugh, High King of Fillory. This is Margobell, my most treasured companion,” he said, and the pixie gave a roll of her eyes as she fluttered her wings. 

“She looks angry,” Quentin said, and Eliot chuckled. 

“She’s worried you’ll take her place.” 

“Her place? I don’t understand.” 

“You made a wish. You want to be free, away from this place. Did you mean it?” 

Quentin thought of his father, who loved him but never tried to really understand him, his mother, who hadn’t been in contact with him in eight years since his parents’ divorce, of the lonely days that awaited him at Columbia University, a college his father had chosen. Fighting to appear normal, hiding his hobbies out of fear of ridicule, struggling to function in a world that never quite seemed to have a place for him. 

“Yes,” he said at last, looking up into Eliot’s eyes. They were a shade Quentin had never encountered before, like honey fresh out of the comb. They danced with mischief and intelligence. “Where could you take me?” 

“To Fillory, where I rule as king. But one of our thrones is empty, and needs a child of earth to fill its seat.” Eliot reached out and stroked Quentin’s tawny hair. “Come with me, Quentin . . . come with me and we’ll rule together, you and I.” 

“Is--is this real?” Quentin asked, wondering in a numb kind of way if he’d accidentally taken too many of his Venlafaxine that morning. 

“It’s real. I’m real. This is real.” Eliot bent his head to kiss Quentin’s lips, and Quentin found himself reacting to the touch instantly like it was a balm on a terrible burn he never knew existed until Eliot’s lips met his. The pixie on Eliot’s shoulder watched, then blew her brunette bangs from her forehead in what looked like disgust but underneath that expression, Quentin swore he could see a kind of wry approval there. 

“Fillory,” Quentin said when Eliot broke the kiss, although one big, elegant hand remained on his cheek. Eliot nodded. 

“Leave this all behind . . . come with me, please.” 

“How do we get there?” Quentin asked, and Eliot grinned. 

“We fly!” 

“But I can’t.” 

“Sure you can!” He collared Margobell by the back of her dress and patted her rear end until pixie dust showered down onto Quentin in a glittering curtain. When he let the pixie go she stomped her foot in the air and zipped out the open window. Eliot laughed and took Quentin’s hand as they went to the window. “Think happy thoughts, Quentin! Funnel cakes at the fair, secondhand bookstores, finding a genuine dragon’s scale!” He leaped from the sill and Quentin gasped as wind currents caught them and carried them upward. He glanced down as Manhattan fell away from them and he seemed to grow lighter and lighter until he felt like little more than a gust of joyful wind. He gripped Eliot’s hand as they flew away toward a bright and glittering star that seemed to call Quentin’s name. 

_ Going to Fillory _ , he thought, and the name seemed more natural to him than any place he’d ever lived on earth.  _ I’m going home.  _

THE END 


End file.
